her voice does things


*katie mcgrath voice* kashy mcgra


Stan Pristin because this is how 2/6 of their vocalists sound together…and they’re not even the mains

c:  쵸리

Kagero is honestly probably my favorite girl in Fates. I just love every single thing about her. She’s absolutely GORGEOUS and… I like her s-sense of f-fashion >///>

The first time I heard it I got chills head to toe. I remember feeling shocked by her voice, shocked at how clean that song was. I like stuff that sort of penetrates through my regular consciousness and hits me where I’m not looking. That’s usually stuff that’s a little darker. You know, that song is really about disillusionment on such a grand scale. I just thought about how this is hitting me like a tidal wave, it’s so romantic and so beautiful, and yet so sad and so disillusioned – it’s all the stuff I love about the Smiths. That song fucked me up and I couldn’t believe it. Her voice does this thing. It just goes through all my bullshit detectors and right into my heart and soul.
—  Ryan Adams recalling the first time he heard White Horse (The Guardian)


Drabble; PG; fluff; Scully x Reyes; Prompt: “Excuse me for falling in love with you!”

Send me prompts in my ask box! I’ll do M S R, Scully x Reyes, or gen for any character(s). I’ll write smut, angst, fluff, whatever.


They don’t fight all that often because Monica has got this face, and this voice, and this thing she does with her tongue that makes Scully forget everything they’re arguing about.

But this is too much.

“It’s not a dog,” she seethes steadily. She’s partly furious because this is all bringing back some tragic memories of the ill-fated Queequeg. “We can’t keep it.”

Monica’s petting the thing on its awful head, regardless of its total lack of fur. “Just because it’s ugly doesn’t mean it’s not a dog.”

But it’s clearly not a dog, not with its glowing yellow eyes (”Jaundice?” Monica supplies) or the giant, bony protrusions in its upper back (”Wings,” Scully hisses, but Monica says it’s spinal dysplasia), or, most importantly, the extremely worrying reality that they found this creature gnawing on a dead goat in the middle of the road. Monica frowns and says he’s just hungry and look, he seems to like brown rice and ground turkey just fine.

“You don’t even believe in el chupacabra,” she reminds Scully. This just makes her angrier.

“I’m not saying it’s the chupacabra.”

“But what is it if it’s not a dog?”

Something about this conversation is too familiar to her. She left monster chasing behind years ago. Without either of them meaning to, the argument escalates in the way they often do when you love someone enough.

At its climax, Monica tearily exclaims: “Excuse me for falling in love with you!” 

The women fall silent while the creature brays out an ominous, wind-like sound. A can of tuna falls out of the pantry and rolls across the floor, but it goes unnoticed. 

“That was a little dramatic,” Monica admits. Scully nods.

Then they’re bursting out in clear, pretty laughter, falling into each other’s embrace, and Monica offers to do that thing with her tongue, and if all the food mysteriously disappears from the fridge tomorrow, along with the creepy dog, neither of them will have to guess why. 

a red signal—

Looking back, I’m so thankful we somehow managed to make things happen.

I wasn’t prepared for it. Call it cliche and whatnot, but it just felt like the universe was trying to send us a message, one that we only just received in time. It was partly my fault, for being so indecisive and the usual wreck that I am, but I can’t deny that she was hesitant too. I’ve long since forgiven her for her mistakes, though, and so has she for mine.

It was Wednesday, or ‘hump day’ as some people so gloriously call it. The Tube was packed to bursting, and I remember being unbearably close to an unkempt stranger in his late-twenties, his bomber jacket reeking of weed and his snapback hovering dangerously close to my eyes. All I could think about was trying to make it to the next stop, where thankfully I’d be able to squeeze my way through the crowd and run out into the sweet-tasting, polluted air above.

And just as this wonderful thought came to me, the train came to a lumbering, cruel halt in the middle of the tunnel.

“Sorry ‘bout that ladies and gents, we are currently being held at a red signal. Should be on our way in a couple minutes time, I do apologise for any inconvenience this has caused to your journey this evening.”

A chorus of sighs and grunts of frustration echoed throughout the carriage. I couldn’t help but exhale sharply, causing the rebellious man-child before me to recoil slightly in disgust before turning his back. I chose to make no comment; my fingers were itching for a light at this point.

After an eternity of internal suffering and unnecessary bodily contact, the train finally rumbled into action once more. I could hardly contain my anticipation for departing, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. The first thing I’d do was light a smoke, I told myself. The platform suddenly slid into view through the windows, and I began to edge and push my way toward the doors, but in my haste I must’ve caught my watch on someone’s handbag, for I suddenly felt myself dragging an unwilling passenger with me out the train.

“Hey, hey! Careful now!”

The colourful accent caught me off guard. I stopped trying to free myself and looked up at my captive. And I was stunned. The woman before me had a pair of inquisitive blue eyes, prompting me for an answer. Perhaps I was taking too long; the corner of her nude lips seemed to twitch at my stumbling hesitation.

“Sorry,” I blurted in a rush, stepping away from the edge of the platform with her. Clumsy fingers finally uncaught her strap from my watch. “So sorry.”

“That’s all right. I don’t blame you for wanting to get out in a hurry,” the stranger replied cheerfully, shrugging into her shoulder bag once more.

“I should’ve been more careful, I’m terribly embarrassed…”

“Please, stop apologising.” She flashed me a devious smile. “It was my stop anyway.”

We walked toward the exit sign together, fairly alone now in the breezy, dimly-lit tunnel. My heart was caught in my throat. Where were the words that usually came so easily? Why did I suddenly feel like all the years of flirtatious gambling and acquired skills had vanished in the blink of an eye? The escalators came into view. I let her on first, leaving a step between us, trying not to notice the cut of her navy shift dress and how they revealed a pair of lean, athletic legs.

“What do you do?” she asked me, tossing that mane of dark hair over one shoulder, sending me reeling with her scent.

“Ah, I’m in music.”

”Ooh, an artiste.”

I shook my head sheepishly. “Not quite. Piano teacher, for kids.”

“Oh. How disappointing,” she joked, and I laughed along with her, aware that the end of the escalator was fast approaching.

Click click. Two modest high heels stepped expertly toward the turnstiles. And in my muddled desperation at her leaving, I stood there for a second or two before I finally went after her, fingers grazing her elbow, and asked: “Could I have your number?”

We stared at each other. The sound of the city seemed to drown out for a heartbeat. I was dimly aware I was in another commuter’s way, but I felt rooted to the spot, my only desire in that moment to hear what this beautiful, funny stranger had to say. She seemed to debate it over and over, those blue eyes losing their warmth and openness, just for a little while, as she retreated within her mind.

Her lips started moving before it’d even registered in my brain. But the answer made me smile like a child, and as we parted and I went up the stairs and walked toward my apartment, all I could think about was that kind, Welsh voice—the thought of having a smoke long disappearing into the back of my mind—and how badly I wanted to tell Aubrey about this feeling, about what I felt to be something truly rare and fleeting.

”Meet me for lunch. Tomorrow, here at 12. I’ll decide then if you’re worthy or not.”

So… I’ve been watching Draxr videos and noticed viewers talking about Cheyenne having been absent…

Does that mean I can come back to the stream now..?

I’d Do it All Again

Request: Can you make a imagine where Dean left the reader in a cruel way *a demon told him to do that in order to save Sam?* He regret and go to her but finds that she become a demon cause she made a deal in order not to feel the pain that he caused her?

Characters: Dean x Reader

A/N: As always just please let me know what you think!

Originally posted by mentalandtwisted

“Why does my favorite play thing seem so distracted?” Her voice was high pitched, soft, and sweet. As if she were soothing him instead of trying to rile him up.

“Wow favorite play thing” Dean replied with a simple smirk “I feel bad I don’t even know your name”

“See this is exactly what I’m talking about” She rolled her eyes, gesturing at Dean wildly with her knife, her voice immediately losing all sweetness as the pitch dropped and became flat “It’s because you’re distracted”

“Have you ever considered that maybe you’re just not interesting enough to pay attention to” Dean smirked at her. Playing the situation as if he were the one in control and not the one tied to a support beam.

“No it’s not that” She dismissed the idea without a second thought, not even taking into consideration the fact that Dean was insulting her “It’s got to be her”

Dean stiffened at the pronoun, immediately knowing to whom she was referring.

She laughed, a light air returning to her voice as she realized exactly what buttons to push. “It is her. Oh Dean she’s not good for you”

“You keep her out of this” Dean snapped back immediately, any false sense superiority lost.

“See what I mean” She smirked, perching herself on the edge of the table, making a show of crossing her legs “she’ll have to go”

“You so much as touch a hair on her head I’ll…”

“Yeah yeah” She sighed, rolling her eyes “skip the threat we’ll assume it ends with you smoking me back to hell” She waved the air, as if waving off the comment literally “Don’t worry I won’t be the one sending her away, you are”

Dean narrowed his eyes “You honestly think I’d kill her?”

“Oh no of course not” She said, putting her hand over her chest “I know that’s too much. I’m not asking you to kill her, just get rid of her”

“And how do you supposed I do that” Dean asked, trying to buy some more time as he tried to get out of the ropes.

“Break up with her, cheat on her, kill her best friend I really don’t care just get it done”

“And why would I do that?”

At this she smirked, knowing just what button to push next “Because I’m keeping your precious Sammy as collateral”

Dean’s body stiffened again “Nice try bitch but Sam’s nowhere near here”

“He’s in the back room with a friend” She gestured vaguely with her hand before calling back “Say hi Sam”

The sound of screaming filled the room briefly causing Dean to jump towards her, forgetting about the ropes for a second in a moment of pure rage.

“So you see you get rid of her and you get Sammy back and I get my favorite play thing back.” She smirked at him again “it’s a win win situation”

Dean clenched his jaw. The choice was obvious, if he broke up with you he’d hurt and you’d hurt but you’d both be alive. But if he refused the result would no doubt be fatal for Sam. And so with a heavy heart Dean agreed.


He must have stood in front of the door to the bunker for an hour, not wanting to go in.

He still didn’t know what to say to you when he got in. He racked his brain trying to think of any way to get around this but found that the only way was to ensure that you hated him. That was the only way to make sure that you wouldn’t come back.

Though he wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle seeing the woman he loves looking back at him with an expression of pure hate.

Sam’s life is on the line. That was the only thing that kept him going, that gave him a somewhat level head, and the only thing that pushed him through the door.

“How was the hunt?” Your sweet voice called through the bunker immediately, just as it did after every other hunt.

“Good” His answer was the same as always, though his voice was much flatter than normal, a thing that you noticed.

You were poking your head into the room immediately, “Dean what’s wrong”

“Nothing’s wrong” He forced himself to make the words sound bitter, like he was angry at the world, at you.

“Where’s Sam?”

Dean simply shrugged, honestly unsure of how to answer that.

You scrunched your eyebrows “Dean have you been drinking?”

“Corse not” He made his voice louder, pretending to be angry despite every bone in his body screaming at him not to do so.

“Dean what’s going on with you?”

“Nothing I said I’m fine”

Yelling at you was a mistake, he knew this having been on the wrong end of some of your tempers but he had to do it, or so he told himself.

“No Dean you are obviously not fine” You were shouting now, anger slowly starting to ooze out of you. “You come in here after a hunt without Sam and do nothing but lie to me! Do you understand that I am just as worried about him as you?”

He wanted to apologize, oh god how much he wanted to apologize and take you in his arms, feel your soft skin against him, have the smell of your shampoo comfort him as he just held you, reminding himself that there was still good in the world. But of course he didn’t.

“I haven’t lied to you”

“bullshit Dean” You groaned “I thought we were past all of the lying! I thought we agreed to be a team, to tell each other everything! So tell me the damn truth”

Dean just sat there, unsure of what he could say at this point.

“Fine just lie to me again then!” You insisted, as if daring him to lie again “It seems that that’s all you’re really good at and we both know whatever comes out of your mouth next is going to be another one so why not just get it over now?! Lie to me”

“I love you” Those were the three words Dean had been waiting to say, the words that have been killing him because he knew as soon as he said them he was vulnerable, just as he was now. He had just hoped when he did say them it wouldn’t be under the present circumstances.

And honestly you were waiting to hear those words. You knew they’d be hard for him to say, you doubt he’s ever said them to anyone. Dean Winchester did not tell people he loved them, he showed it. That was why when he said them now you were so taken aback, every ounce of anger fleeing your system at once.

“You…you don’t mean that” You shook your head, refusing to believe it.

It scared Dean just how easily his next words came to him, how easily he had broken your heart. “that’s what makes it a lie sweetheart”

You froze, unable to do anything but stare in shock. Shock, that was the perfect way to describe this feeling, you were too shocked to react, too shocked to feel anything, too shocked to even feel your heart break.

Dean watched as you froze, watched as he could see the effect his words had on you and it killed him. And that’s why he walked away.

You stood, frozen on the spot, unable to think of what to do next. The world was coming down around you, your world was coming down around you. This couldn’t be right, there’s no way this was happening. Everything was fine, fantastic even. You were happy, Dean was happy. He had to have been happy. You had to believe that.

So you went after him, yelling his name, begging for him to explain as you ran through the bunker, stopping only as you came to his door, his shut door.

You knocked on it hesitantly at first, as if you were afraid he would answer. Which in a way you were, if he answered then he’d explain, and you weren’t sure you wanted an explanation, that you could handle one.

But as he ignored your first knocks you began doing it harder and harder until you were pounding on the door so hard it shook on its hinges.

But the room still stayed silent.

You bit your lip hard, keep it from quivering as you balled your fist, resting it on the door.

“Dean” You begged, your voice quivered but at this point you didn’t care “please just talk to me” You waited, a full minute in silence passing before you spoke again “I just want an explanation, I think I deserve that much”


“Ok” You swallowed a single tear slipping down your cheek but you made no move to wipe it away. “I’m sorry for-for whatever I did”


Dean heard your knocking, how could he not. The door rattled in the frame but he still found himself unable to move from his crouched position in the corner.

He listened as you called his name, begged him to answer you, listened as you got louder and louder, until you stopped, until it was completely silent.

The silence hurt more than you begging ever did. The silence meant you had left him, that you were gone, that you had left him-no-that he had pushed you away.

But then your voice sounded again. “Dean…please just talk to me”

His mouth opened before he could even stop himself. His body begging him to call out to you, to answer you. But he caught himself before a voice came out, so you spoke again.

“Ok” And just when Dean thought the silence would hurt the most, you continued “I’m sorry for-for whatever I did”

And that’s when he broke, silent sobs raking his body as your footsteps slowly got quieter.


Dirt buried itself beneath your fingernails as you clawed through the earth. Placing a small box with everything you needed in the hole before pushing dirt back over it.

Luckily you didn’t have to wait long before one appeared. A woman with a huge smirk and folded arms.

“I knew it wouldn’t take you long till you found me”

You ignored her remark, simply responding with your own “I want a deal”

“Of course you do” She laughed, shaking her head slightly “You’re weak”

“I came here for a deal not to be judged. Just give me my 10 years, you know what I want.”

“Yes I do…but I’d rather hear you beg me for it.”

You clenched your jaw “Make me forget. About Dean, about hunting, about everything, I don’t care! Just make it stop hurting”

She smirked at you, allowing her eyes to look your figure up and down slowly before responding “no”

“No?” You asked, getting incredibly upset with the situation “What the hell do you mean no?”

“I mean no. I’m not giving you 10 years, I’m not going to take you to hell”

“So you’re not going to help me?!”

She grinned at you, giving you an uneasy feeling “I didn’t say that”

“Would you please just cut the crap and tell me what’s going on”

“I’m going to make you a demon”

“And why the hell would I agree to that”

“Think about it sweetheart.” You clenched your jaw at the nickname.

“I am thinking about it bitch!” You screamed in frustration.

“Obviously not hard enough” She rolled her eyes “As a demon you can do whatever you want, have unimaginable power, and of course not experience any pain”

You bit your lip, seriously considering her offer.

“You get more than 10 years, get to keep all of your memories, and get to get over Dean without the heartbreak of having to wait.”

You licked your lips. It would be so easy to just say yes. To stop feeling like shit over Dean, stop feeling like you let him down, like you were a loser, and you get to keep your memories as well. Was there even a downside?

Sure you’d become a demon and needless to say that’d be a problem but you wouldn’t hurt anyone right? You were a hunter, a person who likes to help others, you were strong. You could fight it.

And so you slowly nodded your head making the demon smirk.

“Well then you better pucker up”


“So why don’t we get of here”

The words being whispered in your ear made you smirk as you sipped from your drink, not making eye contact with the guy who had just sat next to you. No context, no flirting, no greeting, just lets get out of here. Just the way you liked it.

“What’s to say you’re worth my time?”

“oh sweetheart trust me. I’m more than just worth your time”

You rolled your eyes, finally turning to look at him glad to see that he was at least decent looking. “Not the wittiest of guys but I think I can make it work”

He grinned at you, licking his lips as he leaned forward “so my place or yours?”

“I’ve got a motel room just down the street”

He stood up immediately, holding out a hand to you “Well then what are we waiting for?”

“That’s an excellent question” You smirked before grabbing his hand and following him out of the bar.

You were about to walk out of the door when another hand grabbed your wrist, spinning you around so you came face to face with the same gorgeous green eyes you had long since stopped thinking about.

“Y/N?” He breathed out, his breath smelling of booze, something to be expected of at a bar.

“Hello Dean” You greeted him with a tight lipped smile, trying to slip out of the door to follow the guy at the bar.

“Where-where have you been? I’ve been looking for you everywhere” He stuttered out, trying to bring you in for a hug but you effortlessly pushed his arms away.

“I’ve been here” You answered flatly “I really need to go now though so catch up later?”

“What? No Y/N” Dean began to panic slightly, running a hand through his already messy hair “I need to explain myself-I need to tell you why I-why I pushed you away I need-”

“I don’t really care” You cut him off “But I do need to go so excuse me” You spit back at him, pulling your arm and spinning around only to hit the man from the bar right in the chest.

“Hey where’d you go?” He asked, taking your hand “are we doing this or what?”

“Who the hell is this?” Dean demanded from behind you, making you roll your eyes.

“David” The guy from the bar introduced himself, letting go of your hand “Who the hell are you?”

“Her boyfriend” Dean said, pointing at you, puffing out his chest and standing up straighter.

Bar guy’s eyebrows shot up as his mouth formed an ‘o’, his hands going up in the air defensively “look man I didn’t know”

“I don’t care” Dean shot back, stepping closer to you “just leave her alone”

“You got it” was all he said before backing away and heading back to the bar, looking for his next hook up.

“What the hell Dean” You hissed, pushing him away from you.

“Y/N what are you doing?” He asked, like a switch going from defensive and jealous to concerned. “You don’t do hook ups, that’s not who you are”

“Well it is now so quit messing them up for me” You hissed, pushing him away from you.

Dean caught your hand easily, holding it to his chest “Look Y/N if this is about what I said I’m sorry but there’s a reason.”

“Dean it’s in the past. I don’t give a shit. Just stay away from me” And with that you pulled your hand back and stormed out of the door.

Dean followed you immediately, slipping out of the door after you and calling out to you “Sweetheart please talk to me”

And with those words something snapped within you. Maybe it was the nickname, maybe it was the fact that he wouldn’t just give up. Whatever it was didn’t matter. You just knew that at this point you were beyond pissed.

You marched over to him, ignoring his confused stare as you grabbed his throat and pushed him up against the wall, pushing him up it until his feet dangled mere inches above the sidewalk.

You felt your eyes change to their pitch black counterparts but at this point you didn’t care, watching as his expression went from confused to pissed in under a second. “When are you going to get the hint Dean? I don’t want to talk”

“You better get out of her you demonic son of a bitch” Dean threatened, stopping only as you pushed him harder into the wall, crushing his windpipe for a brief moment.

“Just me in here Dean-o” You smirked, enjoying the look of shock on his face.

He recoiled, his mouth hanging open as he shook his head “No you’re lying”

“Glad to say I’m not Dean. You hurt me so I made it so that no one can ever hurt me. Quite the improvement if I do say so myself.”

“You’re saying I did this?” Dean breathed out, going limp underneath your touch making you roll your eyes.

“Boo hoo you can have your pity party later Dean.” You shrugged, letting go of him allowing him to slip to the ground “Now thanks to you I’ve got to go find someone else to screw”

And with that you left him in a pathetic heap on the ground and began your walk back inside, not even noticing that he had gotten off the ground until the  cool metal of a demon blade was pushed against your neck.

“We both know you won’t hurt me” You told Dean, not even bothering to try and get the knife off of your neck.

“No but these” The sound of handcuffs locking filled the brief silence as you looked down in surprise to see your hands cuffed together “will keep you from fleeing”


There was only one way to describe how you felt. You felt like you were dying.

Any pain that had once been sharp and evident was now dulled. Now you just felt tired, beaten, and defeated.

The door opened again, allowing light to pool into the room for a brief second before it was shut again.

“Come back for more Dean?” You asked, your voice cracking and your head lolling to one side as you had long lost the strength to pick it up.

Dean didn’t say anything, instead stomped over to the corner of the room with a stern expression on his face before sticking a needle in his arm and drawing out some blood.

“I see we’ve gone back to the silent treatment” You chuckled, rolling your eyes.

Again Dean didn’t say anything, just walked up to you, not making eye contact before shoving the needle into your neck.

You didn’t say anything, or rather couldn’t say anything before unconsciousness took over. Finally becoming too week to even stay awake.

Dean sighed, pulling up a chair and sitting right next to you. If this treatment didn’t fix you than nothing would. So there was nothing to do but wait, and wait Dean intended to do.


It may have taken a few hours, some of the longest hours of Dean’s life but you finally did come to. Groaning as you sat back up in your chair only to see Dean looking back up at you with wide eyes.

“Hi” You attempted meekly, unsure of what else to say, what else you could say given the circumstances.

Dean didn’t say anything, instead leaning forward and wrapping his arms around you. Pulling you into as tight of a hug as he could give given that you were strapped to a chair.

You buried your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent as you fought back tears. You never thought Dean would reach this way towards you again.

Dean pulled back slightly, cupping your cheek with his hand “You’re back”

“I’m back” You choked back, finding it hard to speak around the lump in your throat.

“I…Y/N I’m so sorry”

You shook your head, licking your lips as a stray tear ran down your face “Dean you shouldn’t be sorry. I was the one who made the mistake.”

“No I made the mistake. I let you believe that I didn’t love you. I let you walk out of the door.”

“If I had to guess I’d say that wasn’t you’re idea”

“Not by far sweetheart” Dean reached out, running his thumb softly over your lips.

“I’m sorry I put you through this Dean”

“Don’t be” He responded immediately “If it means that I’d get you back I’d do it all again” And with that he brought your lips to his.

       kara’s NERVOUS when she walks into work that day. cat knows. honestly, she’s not even sure cat will let her keep working there, but she plans to fight for this job if it’s the last thing she does. ❝ ms. grant ? ❞ her voice is SMALL as she awkwardly lingers in the doorway of the office. ❝ can i um…can we talk ?

               { @queenofmean }


I’m gone.

Late in our lunch, I mention something that happened several years ago: By chance, I’d found myself having dinner with a former acquaintance of Swift’s who offhandedly described her as “calculating.” This is the only moment during our interview when Swift appears remotely flustered. She really, really hates the word *calculating*. She despises how it has become tethered to her iconography and believes the person I met has been the singular voice regurgitating this categorization. As she explains these things, her speech does not oscillate from the second mode.

“Am I shooting from the hip?” she asks rhetorically. “Would any of this have happened if I was? In that sense, I do think about things before they happen. But here was someone taking a positive thing—the fact that I think about things and that I care about my work—and trying to make that into an insinuation about my personal life. Highly offensive. You can be accidentally successful for three or four years. Accidents happen. But careers take hard work.”

Here we see Swift’s circuitous dilemma: Any attempt to appear less calculating scans as even more calculated. Because Swift’s professional career has unspooled with such precision, it’s assumed that her social life is no less premeditated. This even applies to casual, non-romantic relationships. Over the past three years, Swift has built a volunteer army of high-profile friends, many of whom appear in her videos and serve as special guests at her concerts. In almost any other circumstance, this would be seen as a likable trait; Leonardo DiCaprio behaved similarly in the ’90s, and everyone thought it was awesome. But it’s somehow different when the hub of the wheel is Swift. People get skeptical. Her famous friends are marginalized as acquisitions, selected to occupy specific roles, almost like members of the Justice League (“the ectomorph model,” “the inventive indie artist,” “the informed third-wave feminist,” etc.). Such perceptions perplex Swift, who is genuinely obsessed with these attachments. “I honestly think my lack of female friendships in high school and middle school is why my female friendships are so important now,” she says. “Because I always wanted them. It was just hard for me to have friends.”

—  (GQ) THIS was the *most important part* of that interview and we basically ignored it